


Sharpness of softness

by AnneMayfair



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneMayfair/pseuds/AnneMayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when two are bonded and close, with a thousand miles walked side-by-side, and blood had been mixed together in battle, a misspoken word or a misplaced touch can still hurt like fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharpness of softness

**Author's Note:**

> It's an old drabble I found when going through my files. I'm certain I haven't posted it here before, so here it is now!

The blood was everywhere, a thin dry coat of red on top of his skin. Some of it even got into the hair, as well; and was it ran matter hanging down the?.. Hawke shook his head to chase away the thought. He was tired. For once in his lifetime, he wanted to get home without fighting off two groups of bandits, a blood mage, and a regiment of templars who were seeking that one blood mage.

But not in Kirkwall.

“Fenris?” he called softly, pointing at the dog. The Mabari promptly jumped onto its feet, wagging the short tail and sniffing the air next to the elf.

“For the hundredth time, Hawke, _I am not letting your dog lick me clean_ ,” snorted Fenris, taking off his traveling cloak, throwing it on the couch. “I’d rather bathe.”

The dog started barking at the cloak, jumping back and forth, excited.

“Down, boy,” Hawke ordered. It helped only a little – the dog sat on the ground, but continued barking. Sighing, Hawke slowly pulled off his own coat, threw it on the couch next to Fenris’, and examined himself in the mirror.

Is it so wild to let you dog clean you after an unpleasant encounter? Or is it too Ferelden? It’s a wardog, after all, that’s what they’re for. Well, partially.

The sound of pouring water distracted Hawke from picking pieces of caked blood from his beard; dog licks are dog licks, and he himself wouldn’t actually mind a bath right now. The man stretched his stiffened arms, picked up a change of clothes from the wardrobe, and headed to the bathroom.

Fenris was wiping his torso with a piece of wet cloth, washing off the dried blood. Hawke froze for a second near the doorframe, adoring the view. Fenris didn’t pay attention to him entering, his back still to the door; it gave the man a great opportunity to see how firm muscles rolled underneath the dark skin, how lyrium markings lit up a little every time he’d touch them with the cloth. Hawke quietly closed the door behind him, putting his clothes on the bench near the entrance, and walked towards Fenris.

“Let me do it,” he said softly, seizing the washcloth from Fenris. The elf turned his head to him, looking up slightly.

“What?”

“Let me,” Hawke lowered himself to reach the water basin to soak the washcloth; the water inside it was already getting pink, “spoil you,” Hawke stretched Fenris’s arm to the right to reach a spot on his back he didn’t reach, “for just a bit.”

Fenris wasn’t used to being gentle to himself, and even with a piece of cloth he managed _to scrub_ himself rather than wipe. Not mentioning neither speed nor ferocity with which he did so. Hawke, on the other hand, wasn’t entirely focused on getting Fenris clean. With gentle but persistent touch, he almost massaged the elf’s back, spreading the hot wetness across his skin.

For a few moments, Fenris stood there, lost, unfamiliar with what Hawke was doing. But then he came to relax, enjoying the feeling of being cared for, tended to. It wasn’t long before he started stretching out so Hawke could reach to all of him. It brought a smile to Hawke’s face, and he didn’t miss the chance to land a few kisses on his shoulders and the back of his neck.

Then Fenris wanted to turn to Hawke, but the man didn’t let him. He dropped the now dirtied cloth into the water basin, pointed at the tub, and cooed:

“Get inside.”

“I am clean,” Fenris protested, trying to stop Hawke’s hands from pulling down his pants.

“No, you’re not,” opposed Hawke. “You have stepped in blood, and, what bugs me right now, is that you have that moustache guy’s brain all over your hair.”

After that, Fenris made a not-so-grumpy noise, but got into the bath. Hawke spotted a few jugs of hot water that Orana placed in the corner for their arrival. He dragged them closer to the bath, took a small pouring jug, and reached out for the soap box.

“What’s that smell?” asked Fenris as soon as Hawke opened it. The room was quickly filled with the smell of exotic flowers and spices.

“Something Isabela gave me,” Hawke wetted his hands and lathered up a smaller piece of soap. “Smells nice, doesn’t it?”

“Smells like _Isabela_ ,” Fenris leaned against the back of the bath tub. The top of it was almost half-a-foot above the top of Fenris’ head.

Hawke laughed. Thinking it was enough foam, he sat on a small stool next to the tub, and started washing the elf’s ears.

“That,” Fenris’ voice shook and he raised his hands to catch Hawke’s. “That is…”

“What?” sounded out Hawke, looking him in the face. “It what?”

“That… tickles!” Fenris slapped Hawke’s hands away from his head, shoulders and torso shaking, and started scratching his ears vigorously. Their tips were red and twitching. “Vishante kaffas…”

The first jug of hot water was poured over Fenris’ head, soaking his hair completely. Fenris let out a disgruntled noise, straightening in the tub, ears still twitching.

“What was that for?” he inquired, throwing the wet hair out of his face.

Without an answer, Hawke simply lathered his hands once again, and sunk his fingers into Fenris’ hair, thoroughly washing out all the dirt and blood of the long and arduous journey. Fenris glared at him for a brief moment, but then once again relaxed, allowing Hawke to continue.

Only now it occurred to the man how long Fenris’ hair had gotten for the past year. For the longest time it was so organic, so unnoticeable; but now he was able to see its full length, straightened under the weight of water, and the ends of it reached the elf’s collarbones. The white mass in his hands was getting cleaner, and Hawke couldn’t help but adore it.

“You’re humming,” noted Fenris, looking at his man, and, seeing the blissful expression on his face, furrowed his eyebrows. “Naughty thoughts, again?”

“No, I was just looking at your hair,” Hawke purred, shaking off the remaining foam to reach for the water jug. “I really like it this way.”

“Which way?”

Hawke couldn’t take his eyes off of the tips of Fenris’ ears as he poured the water onto his hair. Their movements were fast and adorable at the same time, reacting to the feeling of the drops on top of his head. Fenris closed his eyes, savoring the pleasure and warmth.

“It has gotten long,” Hawke reached out for more soap to clean Fenris’ legs and feet. “Maybe you’ll braid it one day.”

Fenris was soft and almost immobile by the time Hawke finished bathing him. At one point the man thought that a smile will stay on his face forever. When Fenris stood up in the tub, arms wide open so Hawke could dry him with a towel, he immediately nuzzled into Hawke’s chest as soon as he was wrapped into a clean one.

“Easy,” laughed Hawke, closing his arms against Fenris. “I’m still dirty, if you don’t remember.”

Fenris didn’t answer, mumbling something in Tevene. Hawke kissed him, and sent him to the bedroom to wait for him to clean up. The walk of the elf wasn’t steady as he went through the door.

It was the quickest, the sloppiest shower Hawke was able to endure right now. He poured water over himself, speedily spreading some soap on his skin, and splashed it off with the rest of the water. He rushed so much that he nearly put on the same dirty clothes he had just taken off. Slipping into his finery, he left the bathroom in a very unclean state, not really caring how much Orana will have to work later.

Fenris was sitting close to the fireplace, changed into his own set of home garment, staring into the fire. Hawke took a couple of cups, filled it with cold water, and walked up to the elf.

“I’m not thirsty,” said he, but accepted the cup. He simply put it beside him, and, with a simple wave of hand, invited Hawke to sit with him.

With a low groan, Hawke took a seat a bit behind Fenris. Once he saw it, he couldn’t stop looking at it – long strands of white hair that coated his neck and shoulders. Lyrium markings looked blue in comparison. Hawke placed his arm on Fenris’ shoulder, and started playing with one of his locks.

“We could braid it, you know,” he said again, finding the idea more and more appealing. “If it gets in your eyes or on your nerves.”

“I don’t know how to braid hair,” replied Fenris.

“Well, I can teach you, I’ve done it a plenty of times before.”

“I’ll just cut it, like usual,” Fenris just shook it off.

Just by the silence he soon knew Hawke wasn’t happy about it. But, to make that even worse, the twirling in his hair stopped. When he turned, the man’s face was that of extreme concentration and contemplation.

“What now?” asked Fenris.

“No, nothing,” Hawke tried to assure him.

“Hawke, I’ve known you for years, I can see your lies,” the elf insisted. “What’s wrong now?”

“It’s just we don’t have to always cut your hair,” he started from afar. “So if you don’t really mind it, then we can…”

“You said it got long,” Fenris shrugged. “I assumed you wanted me to cut it.”

Hawke blinked in surprise.

“Why would you assume that?”

Of course he realized the answer the second he let out those words. It was crystal clear why Fenris religiously cut his hair, every few months, with the same movements, to make the same haircut. They stared at each other for a full minute before speaking simultaneously:

“Sorry, I didn’t think…”

“If you want, I can leave it.”

“Actually, I was thinking… what?” Hawke finally caught what Fenris just said.

“I can leave the hair like this, if you like it,” Fenris repeated. “I don’t mind it. Yet.”

Hawke couldn’t believe his ears. He smiled as widely as he could, jumping onto his feet.

“Where are you going?” Fenris watched Hawke dart from one drawer to another. “What are you looking for?”

The man returned within seconds, a hairbrush and a tight string in his hands.

“I’ll show you how to braid the hair,” he said, his face beaming with happiness.

Fenris snorted. He really didn’t understand how one’s hair can cause such fuss and joy, but he didn’t question it too much. The dog was lying on the floor not too far from them, and with the corner of his eye Fenris saw him scoot closer just a little bit every few minutes.

“I’m not in the mood for learning,” the elf told Hawke. “Just braid it for me today, and then we’ll… do something about it.”

He was surprised at how gentle and experienced Hawke was with his hair. It was damp when they started, and it was a strange but pleasant feeling of his hair being messed with, of strands being separated from one another, and then intertwined in a manmade design.

“I never knew you could braid hair so well,” noted Fenris after calculating the movements; there were five or six strands that Hawke was weaving. “Where did you learn this?”

“I used to braid Bethany’s hair when… when mother would leave the house for a good walk,” Hawke’s voice dropped. Fenris immediately regretted making that remark. “She sometimes would leave for two, three days. At first, I was horrible, and Beth looked worse than the scarecrow Carver put up at the fields. But I got better.”

Fenris silently kept petting the dog, listening to its breath and pleased noises. He didn’t know what to say, and, frankly, he didn’t think he had to say anything. Sometimes it’s just better to leave a man alone with his thoughts. He’ll talk again when he feels like it, and about what he feels like talking about.

 

“Do you know why I like them this way?” Hawke asked, grabbing one more section of the white hair in his hands.

“Because you are a silly man,” Fenris smiled, letting his shoulders drop. The dog was now almost poking his thighs with its nose, and with one hand the elf started scratching behind its ear.

 “Because for me it means that you feel safe and relaxed,” Hawke’s voice transformed into a barely audible cooing. “It means that you don’t watch yourself so tightly…”

“And that is a foolish thing to do,” said Fenris after a moment.

“No,” objected Hawke. “It means that you finally feel here like home.”

Hawke tied the end of the braid with the string, and pulled Fenris’ head back for the kiss. When it ended, Fenris smiled at him, overjoyed with man’s adorable foolishness and, as he later confessed, good thinking.

“Next time, I’ll be the one bathing you,” he told Hawke when they were getting in bed. The man whistled and wiggled his eyebrows. “And I’ll give you a shave.”

“Fenris, my beard is my pride,” there was hurt in Hawke’s voice.

“I wasn’t talking about _your face_ , Hawke,” Fenris snorted, rolling himself up in the blanket.

Hawke remained standing near the bed, a pillow in his hands. He stared at the back of the elf’s head, shocked, and slightly excited.

“Are you getting in bed, or not?”


End file.
